Radioactive
by gilronfire50
Summary: Being thrown into The Hunger Games with the girl he's almost sure he's in love with is not the only thing The Capitol has done to try to break him. What if Peeta Mellark had suffered from The Capitol's cruelty long before? What if District Twelve was not his first home? This is AU, but follows the storyline. HG rewrite.
1. One

Summary: Being thrown into The Hunger Games with the girl he's almost sure he's in love with is not the only thing The Capitol has done to try to break him. What if he had suffered from The Capitol's cruelty long before? What if District Twelve was not his first home? There is much more to Peeta Mellark than bread and a kind heart.

So. Here's something that's been keeping me up some nights.

I guess, that if you wanna have an explenation to what this HG fanfic really is about:

First, should tell you that his story is told from Peeta's point of view and, like it said on the summary, it's an AU, but I tried to stay as canon as possible! The big changes that I've made, you will notice as the story unfolds, it's on the characters. (Of course, they are still sweet, handsome, dreamy Peeta, and clueless, fearless, awesome Katniss.) The thing is that Peeta, like it kinda shows in this chapter, seems to have some kind of really dark and scary past (you'll see later in the story what's that all about, of course; mistery, my friends), which makes him bolder and fierce.

This dark past blablubla it's what keeps our dear Peeta up at nights.

The first chapter may be a little boring and canon, but it's the beginning and couldn't help follow the storyline as much as I did. There is a small presentation of Peeta's family too.

So enjoy and tell me what you think :D

Disclaimer: I'm don't own The Hunger Games, sadly :'(

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**Chapter 1.**

_I've been up in the air_

_Out of my head_

_Stuck in a moment of emotion I destroyed._

_Is this the end I feel?_

**_Up in the air ―30 Seconds to Mars_**

-KP-

_Cries. Heat. Red. _

_Pain._

I jump upwards in my bed, a lump stuck in my throat as cold sweat runs down my back. The pain in my arms is so genuine that I can actually feel the needles piercing my skin and realising that burning feeling inside me, expanding itself throughout my whole body. It lasts just a few seconds, like every morning after a sleepless night filled with nightmares, and I can finally take air in again. I look down and find my body tangled in a mess of damped sheets, while I ran a hand through my ash blond hair.

I can't help the sigh that escapes me.

It's been a while since the last time I had the nightmares ―maybe two weeks ago― and I'm not surprised they're back. When I was younger, the first years I spent here in Twelve, the constant nightmares were agonizing and clear images of my days back in the Capitol, and to my luck, time was healing for me. It didn't wash away what happened, but it makes it easier to wake up every new day; it's like weight keeps being taken off of my shoulders.

When remembering is emotionally and physically painful, however, I want nothing else but to be able to forget. I don't think they will ever disappear, anyway, because even though they sicken me, the nightmares are a reminder of what I've been through in the past. Yes, sometimes I wish I could make them go away, but they keep me sane, they are a proof that those blurred memories are real and I'm not crazy.

They are a proof of the Capitol's boundless cruelty.

After so many years, I can say I'm used to waking up like this in the mornings; nevertheless, it doesn't and won't ever make it more bearable. Nightmares are even worse when bad things are coming. Like today.

Today is the reaping.

The Capitol will choose a male and female tribute of each District ―in between the ages of 12 and 18― to go and compete for their lives in a selected arena, while the rest of Panem watches as they kill each other in order to win, to survive. To come back home.

In my opinion, the reaping in Twelve is worse than watching the actual Games; every year, the reaping is nothing but wishing that your name doesn't come out of that large glass bowl and feeling relieved once it's over because it's not you who's up there next to Effie Trinket but some other familiar face. And you know, like the family of the chosen, you know that you won't see them again because they are not coming back.

It's sickening; it's revolting how the Capitol' people find it entertaining.

I sigh again at my trail of thought while I stand. Pulling some trousers on, I walk inside the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror, not really surprised with what I find in front of me: the young man staring at me from the other side looks ill, with dark circles under his blue eyes drained of their long gone cheerfulness and replaced by emptiness. While washing my pale face with cold water, I catch sight of that large scar on my left shoulder through the mirror, but make myself look away quickly.

I _hate_ the scars.

"Ready for today?" asks Percy as I enter the kitchen. He's alone, eating brand new bread and drinking coffee ―today we can have little luxuries, one of us my get picked after all―, while dad seems to be chattering with a costumer at the front of the shop.

"As ready as I can be," I mutter pouring some coffee into a mug. "Where's Parker?"

"How in the world would I know?" snorts Percy.

I pay no attention to my brother as he stuffs his mouth with more warm bread, nor do I pay attention to my mother who walks inside the kitchen then, sneering at who knows what. I look down, because I don't want to be a target of her temperament this morning.

It doesn't go as I expected, though. Because as soon as I hear the voice of the customer who is treading with father, the plate I was taking out from the rack slips from my hand and crashes against the floor. I don't catch it, I know that I could have, but my mind is off to the shop where Katniss Everdeen speaks with father. From what I can listen, there is not much talking, just the exchange of a few words while she searches for her game inside her bag.

"Peeta!" shouts mother looking at me with a death glare, bringing my mind back to the kitchen. She throws at me a broom and adds, "Clean it, useless boy."

While I clay the shattered dish, I can't help but let my head wonder about Katniss, going all the way back to the day that I first talked to her. It was not the best of days though, but I like to think that I helped.

It rained and it was cold to the bone. I was working in some frosting at the shop and keeping an eye on Parker's breads in the oven while he came back from attending a costumer, when I heard my mother's screaming outside. It took me just a second to realize that she was threatening someone in our back yard, someone from the Seam who seemed to have been going through the trash bin. I heard the word Peacekeeper and knew that whoever was outside would be punished if catched.

I peered through the window to see what was happening, and I still can remember her skinny form backing away from mother to a close apple tree, her checks hollowed and lips cracked. I recognized Katniss instantly; she was at my year, and had always catched my attention somehow. We had never really spoken before, but I could find myself staring at her every time I saw her at school; there was just something about her, something that made me unable to look away, still makes me.

So watching her there in the rain under that apple tree, slowly starving to death, was not an option for me. I glanced at Parker's bread in the oven and, as fast as I could, threw the loaves into the fire and took them out so they were not completely burned, just scorched black at the crusts. Mother came into the bakery then and grew even angrier once she saw the ruined bread, and shouted at me for being so useless as she dragged me outside.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" she screamed one last time before she slapped me across the face, hard. I expected it, so I simply took the hit. It was nothing. _Nothing_ compared to what I had gone through in the past. And I would take it a thousand times if it meant feeding Katniss.

I began tearing off chunks of the loaves and toss them to the pigs, until I heard the sound of the door being slammed as mother stormed off into the bakery again. Looking over my shoulder to make sure the coast was clear, I turned to Katniss. Our gazes locked, blue met grey. That's when I started running towards her, getting soaked in just seconds, the bread secured against my chest.

"It's the best I could do," I said and handed her the three loaves. "Take it." I could tell that she looked astonished, protecting the bread from the rain under the jacket ―too big to be hers― as I quickly helped her to her feet. "Go," I rushed her gently when she didn't seem to respond, frozen and staring at me. "Go."

Then I stood there, as I watched her run all the way she had came from.

And of course, I woke up with a cold the day after. But I didn't care, because next time I saw her it was days after at the bakery, treading a squirrel for more bread with father; I was at the door and our eyes met again until she looked down and left. After that, every time we saw each other, at school, at the bakery, anywhere, we would look at each other in that same way; sometimes there was a smile, or a nod, or a 'hi'. It was just a way to acknowledge the other, somehow.

While cleaning the floor, I get closer to the door at the same moment she looks up, and we do it again; our gazes lock and I can help but think that she has the most mesmerizing eyes I've ever seen.

"Didn't see you there, son," says father turning to me, the hint of a smile over his lips. I know what he's thinking, because I'm sure he knows about those feelings I've always had for Katniss. "Your brother was calling for me a minute ago, you come here and trade with Katniss."

I try to hide a smile too; if I'm home, father always lets me trade when it's Katniss at the door, and of course I never complain. It's the only time we speak more than a word to each other and even though Katniss is all for business, it's perfectly fine for me.

Father leaves and I rest the broom against the wall before approaching Katniss, who frowns and tries to look anywhere but me.

"So, let me see what you brought today," I say and Katniss takes out three squirrels from her bag, all three of them shot right trough the eye, like I expected. "How you manage such a great shot, I will never understand," I compliment her and she stays quiet like always, though I can see the corner of her lips twitching up.

I smile as I walk to the back in search for the bread; Katniss barely speaks when I'm around, and I like to think that it's because I manage to spark up something inside her. The truth is that she still feels like she owns me after the bread incident yeas ago, I know she does, even though she shouldn't. I helped her because it was the right thing to do, there is no need to pay me back, it was not like I was going to let her die from starvation at my back yard. I do things for her, like being generous at our trading, because I want her and her family to be alright and not because I want her to give me something in return. But Katniss is like that, can't really help hating owing someone.

So when I come back with two loaves of bread and a frosted cookie, I'm not surprised to see her scowling. "I can't take it," she says, meaning the cookie. An usual tread for three squirrels would be just two loaves of bread, but I know that her little sister, Prim, would love the frosted cookie.

Primrose Everdeen is nothing like her sister. Not just physically; while Katniss looks like a Seam girl ―olive skin, dark hair, and grey eyes― Prim has blond locks, blue eyes, and fair skin, like her mother. But I know that Prim is the sweetest and loveliest little girl I'll ever meet; not that Katniss isn't, she's just untrusting.

The first time I talked to Prim was a few years ago at the bakery, and the very first thing she did was complimenting me for my frosting, saying that I was extremely talented for a fourteen year old. Taken by surprise, I smiled and, thinking that a girl of ten so kind was rare and should be treasured, I gave her a pretty frosted cookie. She denied at first, not really sure to have the cookie for nothing in exchange ―that was her sister's influence for sure― but I told her I wanted her to enjoy it because she had made my day saying such a nice thing about my frosting, something no one had ever done before. So she took it happily and sat by me at the front steps; we talked for a little bit, she even told me excitedly about the goat, Lady, that Katniss had given her for her birthday. Her mother came then, kindly said hello, and both left. Prim waved at me, though, a huge smile over her lips while she finished the cookie.

After that, she would always say 'hi' to me at school, or wave. And every first Monday of the month, I gave her a frosted cookie, and if we had time, we talked for a few minutes; she always left a smile on my face, no matter how bad my day had been. Katniss' little sister had that effect on everyone.

"Come on, Katniss," I grin. "It's for Prim. I know you can't really deny anything to her."

She scowls; I know that she's aware about my monthly present for Prim, and she clearly doesn't like it. But she never said anything, because it's truth, she can't deny anything to her sister.

Prim is her only weakness.

"It's just a cookie," I push when Katniss remains quite. "You don't have to owe me anything. Just like you, I like to see Prim happy, that kind of makes my day, you know?" Katniss' expression softens; yeah, she knows what I'm talking about. "Sometimes people give without expecting nothing in return."

She looks me in the eye, curiously, like if trying to read me.

"Fine," she finally says and I only smile as she takes the brown bag with the bread and cookie. She walks to the door and turns one last time, saying, "Good luck today."

"You too," I call after her as she leaves.

I stand there for a few minutes wishing she had stayed longer, but mother stops my daydreaming.

"Peeta!" she calls from another room. I've been so deep into my thoughts that never noticed the time; I've been standing there like a stupid for fifteen minutes and we have to be at the centre of town in half an hour. "Come now and get ready!"

I wash myself and dress with the nice robes I am to wear today at the reaping; I even tame my hair, pulling it backwards and off my eyes. Once we're all ready, we head to the gathering by the Justice Building, feeling the anxiety grow in my insides.

I know that Percy is nervous too, though he tries to look cool, calm and really unnerved about what's happening in just moments. He even jokes and says that if he was chosen, he would be the prettiest winner of the history of the Hunger Games. My brother's silliness actually has the effect desired and calms me a little, while father smiles comfortingly and mother keeps her usual sneer over her features.

We finally make it to the centre of town and meet with Parker, his wife, Lilly, who hugs tightly both Percy and I, and my little nephew, Ethan. Lilly is Parker's long time girlfriend, a really nice and caring girl, who we've known for the past ten years. She's really close, even closer to me than my own mother, though it's not hard to care for someone more than mother. Ethan is eight years old, and to be honest, I can't believe that Parker and Lilly would actually bring a child to the world, knowing that they could see him die the time he turned twelve. I love Ethan dearly, he's smart and kind just like his parents, always brings a smile to my face.

"Uncle Peeta!" he shouts and runs into my arms; I twirl, making him laugh.

"How are you, little man?" I ask putting him down with a grin. "How come you've grown every time I see you? Look at you, you're so tall! And last time we saw each other was, what, this Monday?"

"That's because he follows my lead and eats everything they tell him to eat," jokes Percy with pride, showing off the muscles on his right bicep. "Right, little man? You want to be just like your _favourite_ uncle."

Ethan laughs shortly and looks up at us with big blue eyes.

"I'll tell you who my favourite uncle is after the Reaping," he says with this hopeful smile on his lips. Percy and I look at each other, surprised and touched about what our eight year old nephew has just said. It surprise me how much he's catching up on everything it's happening around him, about The Hunger Games, about us and the changes of getting reaped.

"Of course, little man," says Percy breaking the tension with a grin. He turns to me with a smirk. "We all know the answer, so don't be upset when he says my name, brother."

"We'll see you both for lunch, alright?" says Parker, squeezing my shoulder and patting Percy's back.

With a last reassuring smile to our family, Percy and I walk toward our places.

"What do you think about having that wrestling match you owe me after this, ah?" asks Percy with a playful smirk. "Last time I let you win. I won't be such a good brother this time around."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Percy," I say with a smile, before he punches my arm and I leave him at the eighteen boys' section.

I scan the crowd and my eyes find Katniss first; she looks actually calm, her gaze falling somewhere behind me, where I left Percy. I realize that she's looking at Gale Hawthorne, her long time friend, friend or whatever he is to her. They seem to have this silent conversation by staring at each other, and for a moment I wish I was at Gale's place, I wish Katniss was that close to me.

I'm actually surprised that she's not watching closely at her sister, who's at the front with the other twelve year old girls; but then I remember that Katniss didn't let her apply for the tesserae, so there is only one slip with Prim's name in the big glass bowl with thousand of slips. This thought, unexpectedly, makes me release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

I guess I'm truly and so deeply fond of Prim because she reminds me of Lucy.

I see the mayor and a clearly drunk Haymitch enter the stage. Haymitch Abernathy is the only one still alive from District Twelve who won the Hunger Games, and after he came home he instantly drowned in alcohol all the horrors he must have lived inside that arena.

He's a good man, though, I know that. He helped me when no one else would have.

The mayor speaks but my mind shuts him down; I don't want to hear him speak about the Capitol and President Snow and The Hunger Games as if they were the best thing that's ever happened to Panem. It disgusts me and always awakens a rage inside me, though I'm always sure to never show it. I mask it, like I've learned to do with every emotion some memories drag along.

Effie Trinket walks into the stage then, wearing a ridiculously green jacket and pink wig. Bright and bubbly as ever, Effie Trinket gives her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She goes on a bit about what an honor it is to be here, although everyone knows she's just aching to get bumped up to a better district where they have proper victors.

"Ladies firsts!" she exclaims cheerfully and her hand dives inside the right glass ball for a few seconds before catching one slip on her fingers.

My mind races and I look at my feet, praying it's not Katniss' name on that slip.

_It's not_, I reassure to myself, _she'll be safe_.

As soon as I look down, though, something else catches my eye: that old and nasty scar on my left wrist, small and round like. For the many scars that mark my body, I think this one is the worst, not only because all scars are defined into it, but because I get to see it all the time. It's exposed and just one look down makes me come across it. I hate it.

I _hate_ the scars.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

I freeze. I can't breathe, I know what it's coming.

"No! Prim!" it's _her_ voice. "Prim! I volunteer, I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

And this fast, the scars don't seem so important anymore.


	2. Two

**So thank you for the reviews. Here's the second chapter. We get to see a little bit more of Peeta, we will get to see a little bit more of him in every chaper so. Oh and the chapters will be this long, I've decided.**

**Hope you enjoy it! Leave a review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, sadly :'(**

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**Chapter 2.**

_So I peel my skin, and I count my sins_

_And I close my eyes, and I take it in_

_And I'm bleeding out_

_I'm bleeding out for you, for you_

**_Bleeding out ―Imagine Dragons_**

**-KP-**

For a moment, I think my eyes are deceiving me. That girl walking towards the stage, her head actually held high, can't be Katniss. No, it just _can't_ be. She was suppose to be alright, she was suppose to stay safe, her name was not going to come out of that glass ball; it was suppose to be some other girl's name, some unfamiliar girl who's picking wouldn't have broken me this much. I was suppose to see her face light up of relieve because it was not her, and then she would try not to show her hatred for the Capitol, because someone had actually been chosen to fight to death.

But it wasn't some other's girl name, it was Prim's.

Her volunteering was inevitable. After all, Prim is Katniss' only weakness.

I can still hear Prim desperately crying Katniss' name, while she's dragged away to her mother by Gale, who is actually putting up with this for Katniss' and her family sake. I can feel everyone watching Katniss' every move as she stands expressionless in front the microphone, a grinning Effie Trinket by her side. I can feel my fists clutching tightly at my sides, my nails digging into my own skin. I can feel my blood boiling and when I realize that my rage it's getting out of control, I make myself take a deep, steady breath, as my eyes dart back to Katniss' still form on the stage.

The reality hits me right in the chest, and while my heart beats on my ears, the rage is replaced by panic. Katniss is going into The Hunger Games.

_Katniss_ is going into _The Hunger Games_.

While I try not to listen to that little voice in my head telling me to memorize her face, because it's for sure the last time I'll get to see her, a part of me is assuring me that she actually has a chance in this; she's strong, fearless, and no one can equal her aim with a bow. I know that at least she will try, Prim will be waiting for her here in Twelve. Katniss won't, can't give up easily, that's for sure.

Maybe, if Haymitch helps her properly, if he gives her useful advice, then maybe she will come back. I hope, I pray she does. I make a mental note to talk to Haymitch in this little time I have, he could actually listen to me; he's helped me before, he may be able to help now. If he realizes how important Katniss' survival is to me, then he may want to help me. And I know that Haymitch it's clever, he outsmarted the other tributes when he was chosen for the 25th Hunger Games, that's how he won, so Katniss could be in good hands.

"Well, bravo!" gushes Effie Trinket. "That's the spirit of the Games!" She's pleased to finally have a district with a little action going on in it. "What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen," she says, and it doesn't surprise me how strong her voice sounds. She doesn't want to show weakness, she won't give them the satisfaction of seeing her fears.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" trills Effie Trinket and I growl silently. Glory? Katniss is trying to save her little sister. There is no glory to win.

Everyone must be thinking along the exact same lines, because to the everlasting credit of the people of District twelve, not one soul claps. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the ones who are usually beyond caring. Possibly because they know Katniss from the Hob, or knew her father, or have encountered Prim, who no one can help loving. So instead of acknowledging applause, I'm part of the bold act of silence, which shows our disagreement. Which says we do not condone. All of this is _wrong_.

But it's not enough, not to me and not to the rest of District Twelve, and it triggers an unexpected reaction. While my eyes briefly lock with Katniss', I touch my three middle fingers to my lips and then hold

them out for her. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love. I see from the corner of my eye how, one by one, almost everyone in the crowd joins in the gesture, until there is no one left with their three middle fingers up in the air.

Everyone in the stage is astonished, but I can see Haymitch, drunk or not, narrowing his eyes at me. He stands abruptly then, and staggers across the stage to congratulate Katniss. "Look at her. Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around her shoulders. Everyone can see Katniss' discomfort. "I like her!" he continues with his drunk and almost unintelligible manners. "Lots of…" He can't think of the word for a while. "Spunk!" he says triumphantly. "More than you!" he releases Katniss and starts for the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing directly into a camera.

Is he addressing the audience or is he so drunk he might actually be taunting the Capitol? I'll never know because just as he's opening his mouth to continue, Haymitch plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious.

"What an exciting day!" Effie Trinket warbles as she attempts to straighten her wig, which has listed severely to the right, while Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" Clearly hoping to contain her tenuous hair situation, she plants one hand on her head as she crosses to the ball that contains the boys' names and grabs the first slip she encounters.

That's when I feel it. That twinge in my gut, a deadly hunch, and I know what it's coming.

Effie Trinket zips back to the podium, and I don't even have time to feel frightened before she's reading the name. "Peeta Mellark!"

My head is down, my eyes shut and fist clenched at my sides.

For the second time in the same day, my heart beats fast and out of control, fear and anger combining into one consuming sensation, while I let my feet take the firsts steps towards the stage. Right, left. Right, left. I can't breathe and I feel my chest shrink as my eyes find Katniss', her features showing nothing but terror and alarm when she watches me quietly walk towards her.

Soon we're standing right in front of the other, while I vaguely hear Effie Trinket telling us to shake hands. My large hand finds Katniss' small one, and that's when I make I silent deal with myself. We're both going into the Hunger Games; there is only one winner, and I'll make sure it's her. I squeeze her hand reassuringly, but Katniss doesn't seem to notice; she must be too shocked to care.

And I can't deny that I'm scared too. After all, my name coming out of that glass ball after Katniss' volunteering means nothing but my death sentence.

Volunteers are asked for, and I'm not surprised when there's no one. Through my buzzing ears, I hear Effie Trinket finally presenting the District Twelve' tributes of this year, and the tears threaten to fall while I stop a scream in my throat as I look down at my family, all of them hugging each other in comfort. I straighten up and tighten my jaw, though; I'm not letting The Capitol get to me, not this time.

This thoughts occupy my mind and while the anthem plays, I can't help but think that the odds are definitely not in my favor. But then again, when have they really?

The anthems finishes and Katniss and I are dragged inside the Justice Building by numerous Peacekeepers, who make sure no tribute escapes, though I've never seen something like that happen before. It's an appealing thought, but I wouldn't make it, and I wouldn't let Katniss alone through this.

We are separated into two different rooms, though I'm sure they look alike, richest and beautiful, with thick, deep carpets and velvet couch and chairs. When I sit on the couch, I can't help running my fingers over the fabric repeatedly. It helps to calm me as I try to prepare for the next hour. The time allowed for the tributes to say goodbye to their loved ones, and for me it's the last time I'll see them, so I'll make sure to treasure each second, try to memorize their faces to think about them once I'm thrown into the arena.

While I'm pondering over this, my family finally comes into the room. Father looks broken hearted like my two brothers, while Lily holds her tears and a silently sobbing Ethan against her middle. It doesn't surprise me that mother, at the back, looks disinterested.

I release a sigh when Percy hugs me tightly, and I return his embrace with equal urgency.

"I'm so sorry, Peeta!" cries Percy, while he and Parker hold me at the same time. "I'm your older brother, I should have volunteered for you. I'm such a coward! Please, forgive me!"

"You're not a coward, Perce," I assure him looking him at the eye. "I don't blame you."

"But you're my little brother, I should have ―"

"I don't blame you," I repeat honestly and he shuts, some silent tears still running down his face.

Lilly is next and crushes me against her body, trying to control her crying, while Ethan runs to his father and continues to hide his face.

"I'll see you again, Peeta," Lily whispers in my ear pleadingly. "Promise me you'll come back." I stay silent, because I can't promise her that. I am _not_ coming back. "Promise me you'll try!" she repeats, and I nod silently; I don't want to give her false hope, and she seems to realize that, finally breaking down into tears. She embraces Parker, not wanting to slay me with her killing sorrow.

Father just comes to me quietly and hugs me against him. I let some tears fall then, while secured in my father's arms. He is the one who gave me everything, after all, the one kind hearted man that let me into his home, into his family, and treated me and loved me like his own son. He saved my life in more ways than he thinks, and now we are saying goodbye to each other.

Because he knows I'm not coming back. He knows deep inside.

"I'll miss you so much," he whispers, with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. Then he suddenly holds me from the shoulders and looks me right in the eye. "Listen carefully, Peeta," he continues lowering his voice. "If you're not coming back, then promise me that you won't let these games change you. Your heart is so full of goodness and it's the kindest I'll ever know. Don't let them take that away from you, son." His hold tightens and he slightly shakes my shoulders, as if trying to make me understand further. "Don't let them take away the only thing there is left to take."

I nod, letting in his words. "I promise you I won't, father." I say firmly, vowing silently that I won't allow myself to break this one promise.

"I love you, Peeta."

"I love you too, father."

With a last hug, he lets go and I can't help the sigh that escapes me.

Mother then steps in front of me, almost reluctantly. She's not sneering, but there is no trace of sadness. She gives my left shoulder a light squeeze and says, "Maybe District Twelve will actually have a winner this year. She is a fighter that one," before letting go; there is no hug, no kiss, no loving words. But of course I didn't expect them, so I'm not disappointed.

And she's actually right for once. District Twelve _is_ going to have a winner this year.

Ethan is the last one of the family to say goodbye. He uncovers his face from his father' legs and runs towards me, his little arms around my neck hugging me as if to never let go. Like the eight year old he is, he cries against my shoulder, though I can feel him trying to calm himself down. He's smart and doesn't want to be the one being comforted out of the two of us. He can't help it, however, and it's okay. I only care to hug him tightly against me.

"I'll tell you―I'll tell you if you're my favorite uncle when you win ," he manages to whisper, and it breaks my heart. He wants me to come back too.

I guess I'll never know the answer.

Then, two peacekeepers enter the room, taking my family out. While they are almost dragged out the door, I can hear the last I love you's and goodbyes. I'm left all alone in the room, then, overwhelming silent around me, while my mind races and my heart continues to ache from my family latest visit.

_It's for the good_, I tell myself, _it's the right thing to do. It's for her._

I remember then that Haymitch is still able to help me get Katniss out of this alive, and I tell myself to make sure he does. I'll un-drunk him, I will beg for his help if I have to. I'll do absolutely _everything_. And the fact that in order to bring Katniss home means my death, now surprisingly doesn't scare me. It makes me stronger, even, more determined to achieve my only and crucial goal in this year's Hunger Games.

And the fact that she will live is enough for me.

I'm surprised when I'm pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of the door being opened. I certainly didn't wait for anybody else, and Gale Hawthorne is the last person I expected to see standing at the entrance of the room, a grim expression over his features.

"I don't really know what I'm doing here," he says after a long pause where the only thing we do is stare at each other. "I guess I just had to try." He walks inside, closing the door behind him, his face morphing into a amazingly distressing one; I would have never thought I would get to see the Gale Hawthorne this broken. "Make sure she comes home," he finally says, almost pleadingly. "Make sure she wins."

I'm astounded; not because of what his asking for, but because I realize he must truly care for Katniss if he's here almost begging to her competition in the Hunger Games to let her live. And suddenly I know the reason. He loves her. Of course he does. How could he not? Behind her quiet and untrusting facade, Katniss has a heart of gold, and her volunteering for Prim only demonstrates how much she can love someone.

"I don't really know what I'm doing here," he repeats, frowning, obviously taking my silence for the wrong answer. "I shouldn't have bothered."

"She will come home," I finally speak. He was about to leave but my words stop him, and he turns, hope shining in his eyes. "She will come home," I confirm him again. "I'll make sure she does."

"Really?" he asks tentatively, and I notice his clear distrust. "Why would you? You could have a chance in these games if you tried."

_Because I may be in love with her too_, I think to myself.

"Because I could never live with myself knowing that someone like Katniss died in order for me to win," I say, and it's not a lie. I think that, no matter who was the person in the room right next to mine, I would be thinking along the same lines. But the fact that is Katniss, makes my decision about dyeing much easier. There isn't a decision to make, actually. "I will try _everything_ to keep her alive, and I truly hope she comes back. "

Gale looks convinced, eased. He nods and turns to leave, but not before I hear him say, "You really have a heart, Mellark."

I'm alone again, and I know there is just a few minutes left before they put us on board of that train. The thought has me pacing from side to side.

But I'm surprised once more, when the door opens and Primrose looks at me with wide, teary blue eyes. Surely, she has seen Katniss already, but I don't really know what she's doing here, until she steps inside the room and takes a brown bag from behind her back. I can recognize those anywhere, and I anticipate the cookie that Prim hands me from inside, the same cookie Katniss delivered to her this morning.

She doesn't speak when I take it, kneeling before her, looking at her right in the eye. Just one look and I know what is the question she's so hesitate to ask out loud; it's written over her face, I can see it in the trail of wet tears over her red cheeks, I can see it her slightly quivering lower lip. She wants to be able to hug her sister again, and just like her sister, I can't deny Primrose Everdeen anything.

"I promise, Prim," I whisper, squeezing her hand reassuringly. And this time, when I say it, the words sound much truthful to me, they are now my new reality. "I'll make sure she comes back to you."

Once I'm alone again, I realize I'm not able to take my eyes off of the frosted cookie.

**-KP-**

We're hurried inside a car, making our way to the train. Katniss and I, we both try our best to keep our faces expressionless; it's not good to show any weakness, and I don't want The Capitol to think that they've got me, that they will play me. We're on the station full of reporters, and I inwardly smile when I catch glimpse of a screen and see that Katniss and I almost look bored.

That's when awareness hits me, another realization. There are cameras all around us, pointed right to our faces, so wouldn't it be possible for them to recognize me? God, of course they can! I'm instantly panicking. I really don't know what to do, and I see that Katniss is staring at me oddly. But I don't really care, because the only thing I can think about it's what are they going to do once they get a hold on me. Are they going to kill me before the Games even begin? Or impregnate the most horrible of pains in me like the first time? Are they going to punish my family for providing me with shelter when I came here to Twelve?

Or maybe, maybe they don't know it's me. It's been years since I left The Capitol, I was a kid at the time; I've grown, I've changed. So maybe, I think hopefully, they haven't realized yet.

Yet.

I need to talk to Haymitch, I decide, as soon as I get inside that train.

We have to stand for a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobble up our images, and through the distracting and fast beating of my heart, I can feel Katniss getting closer to me, as if trying to stay as far away from the reporters and their cameras as possible. I don't mind, and I'm actually disappointed when we're allowed inside and the doors close mercifully behind us.

The train begins to move at once.

I can tell that the speed takes Katniss by surprise, making her stumble. I'm holding her by the shoulders to steady her, but the sudden physical contact it's actually more surprising for her, and Katniss is quickly jerking away from me. I can't deny that her distrust hurts me more than it should, but it's not a shocker to me. We're both going to The Hunger Games, and Katniss doesn't really know that I don't intend to get out of it alive, so she just wants to keep distance between the two. It's okay. I don't mind.

_Liar. _

The tribute train is even fancier than the room in the Justice Building, much fancier than the train in which I came to Twelve. While that one was just empty and dirty wagons, now we are each given our own chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water. We don't have hot water at home, unless we boil it.

I can hear Effie telling us to do anything we want, wear anything we want, everything it's at our disposal; we just need to be ready for super in an hour. But I couldn't care less about clothes or baths in this moment; the only thought in my mind is to find Haymitch and ask for his help, doesn't matter how drunk he is.

I can feel Katniss' eyes on my back while I walk to the other side of the train, in search of our mentor. It's not hard to find him; the rough smell of alcohol gives away the room he's staying in through our journey to The Capitol. I enter his chamber and I'm not surprised to find him fast asleep in the floor beside his large bed, snoring slightly, hair falling over his face. I walk to him and try to shake him awake.

"Haymitch, wake up," I say loudly but he just snores some more. "Haymitch, come on, I need your help. Now!"

I finally decide that shaking him doesn't do the trick so I'm hurriedly on my feet, searching the room for something useful. My eyes land upon a bucket of ice and I have to suppress the urge to punch the air in victory. I grab it and I'm back besides the laying Haymitch, who actually swiftly jumps to his feet when I let the cold water splash the back of his head.

He has me pinned against the wall in a second, his forearm over my neck and a small knife threatening my throat. His eyes are dark and his hold on me is strong. I know that I can take him down in just a second, and he would know that too if he wasn't so deep inside his own head to think I mean danger. He's probably still confused between dreams and reality, so I let him breath and focus for a moment.

He finally realizes who I am, and his narrowed eyes are now wide open.

"Kid?" he asks, slowly pulling his arm away. And though I can smell the liquor in his mouth, he looks in a better state than in the reaping hours before. "Don't tell me it was your name that came out of that glass ball."

I understand that he was still passed out when Effie called my name, and it seems that no one cared to tell him who was chosen when he woke up.

"Trouble seems to follow me around, Haymitch," I try to joke, but his face only darkens.

"This is much worse than trouble, kid," he whispers harshly, stepping away from me. I can't help but think that he's right. "I now you want to hear some advice about the Games, but this is not the right place or time. I'm going to take a nap."

I'm confused for a moment. I'm not seeking to be advised about the Games, and thought he still looks a little drunk, I can see that Haymitch knows. But I understand his silent message when his eyes move up for the slightest second. A camera in the ceiling. The Capitol can watch and hear our conversation.

I nod. I guess I'll have to wait to find a place where our conversation can't be eavesdropped.

"Right, take your nap, we can talk later," I tell him, though I want to ask him what to do about ―well, about everything. I'm in danger, my family it's in danger, Katniss it's in danger.

I'm still not completely sure why, but that last thought is terrifying.

"Yeah, yeah…" he mumbles and lets himself fall on the bed; I hear him snore instantly. I get out of the room and get inside my own, heading straight to the shower. I undress and step inside the bath, letting the hot water run through my hair and all over my back; it actually feels like my worries are being washed away for a moment, at least until I get out of the shower, and I'm drying off with a white towel.

Effie comes to collect me for supper right after I throw a shirt over my head. I follow her through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls; such a fancy place reminds me of The Capitol, at least at the time when I was not treated like a captive. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable and Katniss sits waiting for us, the chair next to her empty.

I find myself staring at her the moment my eyes land on her.

"Where's Haymitch?" asks Effie brightly, while I shake myself and take the place next to Katniss; she shifts uncomfortably, almost ready to distance our chairs ―I try not to show my disappointment―, and seems to decide against it.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," I inform.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," says Effie and I think she's relieved by Haymitch's absence.

The supper comes in courses. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake. Throughout the meal, Effie keeps reminding us to save space because there's more to come. But I'm stuffing myself because I've never had food like this, so good and so much. I see that Katniss is doing exactly the same, eating mouthfuls of this food that we'll only have this chance to enjoy in a lifetime.

"At least, you two have decent manners," says Effie as we're finishing the main course, and I'm slightly suspicious as to where this is heading. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

The pair last year were two kids from the Seam who'd never, not one day of their lives, had enough to eat. And when they did have food, table manners were surely the last thing on their minds. Father had always been adamant to teach us how to behave correctly on a table, though being three boys sometimes made things twice as difficult. But, yes, I can handle a fork and knife. Katniss is from the Seam, but her mother was originally from town ―her looks give her away easily―, so I guess she taught her daughters how to eat properly too.

But Effie's comment makes me suddenly stop, my fork halfway to my mouth and I'm about to say something, but Katniss beats me to it. She notably leaves the cutlery and makes a point of eating the rest of her meal with her fingers ―even wipe her hands on the tablecloth. I can help but keep a small smirk on my lips, as if actually pricing what she's doing. This makes Effie purse her lips tightly together.

Once I'm finally over, I realize the amount of food I've eaten is far more than what I'm used to, and my stomach is fighting to keep it all down. I can see that Katniss looks a little green too. Haymitch decides to show up then, dragging his feet towards the table, and I have to keep myself from slapping my forehead for actually forgetting my talk to come with our mentor. The thought of the danger I am in ―and so is my family― makes me really want to throw up now.

Haymitch looks at me with narrowed eyes as he approaches the bottles of alcohol, and rises his glass to me before drinking it all down in one gulp. With that little gesture, I'm assured that he hasn't forgotten. While Effie is oblivious to the silent communication between Haymitch and I, I can see Katniss watch the short display with sharp eyes.

If she wants to say something about it, she doesn't have the time, because Effie is rushing us to the other compartment where they're going to show us all the reapings. Katniss and I sit on the couch, and I see that she tries to stay as far away from me as possible, but Haymitch sits on her other side, making her move closer to me, our arms almost touching.

I'm holding my breath for a second.

One by one, we see all kind of names being called and different faces get up the stage. I focus and try to remember the ones that are more of a threat; I know my memory can't really fail me. There is this enormous boy from District Two lunging forwards to volunteer and I know he's the biggest threat of them all. His huge size is not what frightens me the most, but his piercing eyes full of malice and bloodlust, the same look his District partner wears. These are the Career tributes, they've trained their whole lives for these Games, and I tell myself to keep them as far away from Katniss as I can.

The others tributes who draw my attention are both from District eleven. The boy is as big as the Career from Two, and though he's not trained and doesn't show the same desire to get into the Games, I'm certain he's ready to kill. However, the sight of his District partner disturbs me the most; a little girl with dark skin and eyes, who can't be older than Prim. What breaks my heart, is the fact that in order to make Katniss the winner this girl will have to die.

I only hope it won't have to be me the one to kill her. I don't think I'd be able to.

Last of all, they show District Twelve reaping. Prim being called, Katniss running forward to volunteer. You can't miss the desperation in her voice as she instantly shoves Prim behind her, as if afraid no one will hear her and they'll take Prim away. But, of course, they do hear. I see Gale pulling little and crying Prim off Katniss as she walks to the stage.

When my name is draw, though, I'm far more than surprised. Not only I look more pulled together than I thought, but Katniss' face seems to lose color. She looks frightened, terrified, actually horrified to see me take my place in the stage. I watch ourselves shake hands, and how we both linger there for a longer second, staring at each other with growing fear. I hear the commentators are about to say something, but Haymitch mutes the screen before telling Effie to leave for a moment so we three can settle some things.

"Okay," he begins, turning to us, eyes narrowed. "Now you obviously know each other. Care to explain?"

"There is nothing to explain," says Katniss quickly, arms folded.

"We've known each other for a while," I tell Haymitch, ignoring Katniss' immediate glare. "You can tell we're ―sort of― friends."

Haymitch nods but I keep my eyes on Katniss, who hasn't stopped looking at me with narrowed eyes, as if trying to read me again. But this time, I can perfectly see the distrust. She's trying to understand what I'm playing at. The thing is, I'm not playing anything. The only thing I want, the only thing I care about it's her survival.

She stands, still glaring, and leaves.

"Sort of friends?" Haymitch is talking again, and so I turn my head to him. He's frowning, watching me with one of his calculating gazes. "Tell me the truth, kid, I can see right through you."

"That's what we are, Haymitch. Sort of friends," I repeat.

_Kind of like you and I_, I add inwardly. Because, intoxicated or not, that's the truth; Haymitch and I are like family, an odd and dysfunctional family.

When I came here to Twelve, his only job was to help me find a house to stay in; and he did, found a home of a kind man, his wife and two kids―The Mellark's. Right after I was settled, we agreed to distance as much as possible, because Haymitch, being a victor, was constantly watched by The Capitol. It was a risk I couldn't take, none of us could. For years we didn't see each other, just at the reapings; it was only when I turned eleven, four years after my arrival to Twelve, that I went to his house in the Victor Village at night. I entered through a back window and he actually throw me a bottle of whiskey ―almost killed me― when he woke up and found a boy on his messed up kitchen.

He finally recognized me and said something like 'you kid, gonna kill me one of this days'. We sat beside each other and ate the pie I had brought from home. We did that once or twice a month; I would go to his house some time after dinner and talked while eating whatever I had taken from home. That was our odd relationship, a silent agreement to make company to the other. He was the man who risked his life to save a boy he didn't know, after all, and I was the boy who would be in debt with him forever.

Haymitch stays quiet for a long minute, staring at me intently, and I take the conversation as finished, so I stand too, heading straight to the farthest room on the train, one with large windows and a blurry sight of the outside. I spend a long silent time there, sitting in a comfortable couch by the main window, pondering about Katniss' reaction. I hate the fact that she won't trust me, it hurts that she's already seeing me as a threat. But what hurts the most is the thought that she would actually think that I would hurt her. We're not close, we're just _sort of_ friends, as I assured Haymitch, but I'm sure that she knows me better than that.

For a moment I think about telling her my real wish to get her through the Games so she can win and go home, but I'm sure she would only see it as some kind of strategy of mine. I'm the enemy in her eyes, and I'm not sure what to do to change that. I wish I could, wish it was easy; I'd be nice to be friends before I die, before I die for her.

It doesn't matter, thought. If she lives, then it'll all be worth it.

Almost as on cue, I hear someone entering the room, and I know it's Katniss. No one can be that silent, though not enough silent to my ears.

"You'd be dead if you were any quitter," I joke turning to her, and immediately scoff at myself. "Bad use of words," I say, and she just nods, standing still by the door, her hair falling in the form of waves over her shoulders, out of its usual braid. "Really bad use of words. Sorry."

"I didn't mean to disturb you," she says quietly, the scowl never leaving her face, ready to turn and leave.

"You didn't," I assure her quickly, making her stop and face me again. She looks undecided, and I know she's debating with herself whether leave anyway or not. So I speak again, because I don't want her to go. "I'd actually like some company. And Haymitch and Effie are not an option."

She stays silent again, her intense eye on mine.

"We're not friends, Mellark," she almost hisses, always so hostile; she obviously means earlier today, our talk with Haymitch after we watched the other Districts' reapings, and the remainder is nothing but disturbing. But this thoughts erase and I just hide a smirk at the sound of my name actually coming out of her lips, which it's comforting. She's never called me anything before, she always stuck to one or two words, so this is progress to me. "We're not _sort of_ friends neither."

"Aren't we?" I ask, with a raised eyebrow. She frowns again, listening. "We've never really had a conversation or anything, but I thought we were. I mean, you would say hi, I would say hi. That was enough for me to think there was some kind of friendship between us, wasn't it for you?" Katniss looks down for a second and I know she's thinking about it, that maybe she does feel this same way, which obviously ignites a little hope in me. "What I said to Haymitch was true, Katniss, we do have known each other for a while."

_Since the incident of the bread_. It goes unsaid, but I know she's thinking the same thing as me.

"No, we don't, Mellark," she says, and I try to hide a smile again. "We don't know each other. I don't know anything about you, except that you're a baker and that you give Prim a frosted cookie once in a while."

"She likes them, right?" I ask with a small chuckle, and Katniss scowls.

"Loves them," she mumbles. I didn't expect her to answer me, so she surely takes me by surprise when she says this. My smile only grows wider and I look at Katniss. "That's not the point," she hisses, shaking her head.

"The point here is," I rush to say after she continues, "that even though the only thing I know about you is that you're deadly with a bow and you love your sister more than anything in this world, I actually do want to get to know you." She looks at me oddly, almost doubtfully. "Anything… I don't know, what's your favorite color?"

"Now you're just messing with me," she narrows her eyes, and I'm sure she's ready to leave.

"No, I mean it," I insist with a honest smile. Anything I can learn from Katniss, anything that can make me walk in the right direction to get to know her and actually have a chance to be friends with her, it's enough for me.

She hesitates for a second before saying, "Green." _Of course_, the trees, the woods. Her real home. She looks at me and hesitates again before asking, "Yours?"

"Orange," I tell her, and I imagine the right shade inside my head. "Like the sunset." Katniss stares at me while I stand, my hands in pockets. "See? Now we know something else about each other. Doesn't it feel like becoming friends to you?"

"We're going into the Hunger Games," she says quietly. "We can't be friends."

She's turning then, ready to leave, thinking she's made me understand. But I want her to understand that I'm not going to win, _she_ is.

"Katniss," I call, making her stop by the door. For a moment, I consider it again, telling her the truth, but it just won't come out of my mouth. Right now, I'm a coward, I'm afraid of what she may think, afraid that she won't believe me, afraid that her calculating mind won't see the sincerity in my words. So I just stick to tell her something she already _knows_ is true, "I would never hurt you. Not here and not in the Games."

I'm not really telling her what my plan is, what are my intentions once we get inside the arena, but I'm assuring her that I'm not a threat and I'm a friend to her whether she returns that companionship or not. And she knows that, she knows since the day I gave her that bread outside the bakery, since I silently told her to go back to her family and keep trying; and I remind her so every time Prim leaves school by her side, a frosted cookie on her hand. She knows, deep down, that I want her to be okay, happy as she can be.

_No_, I realize, _I live to see her okay, happy as she can be._

Katniss doesn't say anything. I'm not even sure if she listened, or if she wants to believe my words or not. I just turn to look at the blurry sight of the outside, as I hear at the sound of the door being closed.

Yes, we are going into the Games, and in Katniss' eyes, just one of us is getting out of them alive, only if the odds are in our favor, of course. But I already know that she will, I've promised so, to Prim and to myself.

And I never break my promises.


End file.
